How Does It Feel to be a Genius?
by A Pocket full of Mumbles
Summary: Tony Stark's life is in ruins. One-night stands, drinking, outbursts of anger. Sherlock Holmes needs a favour of him, on his road to defeating Moriarty. In the end, will their meeting be for better or worse?
1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark sat on his long couch. Alone. A glass of scotch in his hands, which were violently shaking with the amount of alcohol he had consumed that evening. There were three empty glasses on the table. He gulped the last of the contents in his glass and wandered over to the bottle. He opened it and went to pour himself another glass, only to find that he had reached the bottom. He sighed and moseyed back over to the couch. He picked up the small round disk that was sitting on the coffee table and plopped himself down in fake propriety to examine it.

It was circular in shape and small compared to the usual gizmos that he came up with. No bigger than a slice of bread. Sleek design as would be expected, but obviously worn by the scratches and rough spots that dotted the shining silver edges that held the technological pieces together. The appliance was scuffed more on the left than the right, little scratches and cracks ran along the metal like a finger print. There was nothing ugly about the small disc, even though it was made for practicality; the polished metal lining had click marks front the many times it had been popped into place. The gadget was clean but look scalded and shocked as if it hadn't been maintained but newly polished. The metal had little dents in it. As he examined it further he wondered if it had been bullets. He could hardly remember. He could hardly remember anything anymore besides the bottom of the last bottle he drank through. The piece had been well varnished and handled with care despite all the unhealthy marks and bruises. The wires hung down like roots and even in his impared state, he knew exactly where each wire needed to be connected. He had managed to salvage and keep the orginal technology. That was an accomplishment.

He burped and stood up, feeling instantly dizzy. He laughed deeply holding onto the back of the couch for support.

"Yeah! I'm wasted!" he screamed to no one in particular. The billionaire playboy philanthropist was a faraway dream. It was only the alcohol talking.

There was a reason he was in the state he was. He had gotten an offer that morning. An intriguing offer; a man who wanted invincibility.

The phone call had woken him and his latest one night stand at four in the morning, and for some ridiculous reason, he answered it. That was when everything fell to pieces. The funny part was, he had no idea what he was up against. He didn't know how old or how tall or what he looked like or even his name. And he didn't really care, all he knew was what that person wanted. Mind you, they hadn't said it out loud, but he knew.

He clumsily walked over to the suit, which was quietly poised, standing in it's case. Looking harmless. He touched the glass.

"Weapon of mass destruction, in a display case in my living room. What a perfect time to take you for a spin eh? You're the reason I'm in this mess anyway." he punched the display case rattling the goods inside and making him angrier than he already was.

The suit he had standing there was the newest edition. He had built it only a few months prior. It was for the re-formation of the Avengers initiative. He had heard that some 1940s war hero had been found, frozen in ice and had been thawed. Perfect timing too, since some Asguardian god or something had dropped out of the sky demanding ultimate power, to be ruler of mankind, and the Tesseract. The suit dawned the same red and gold colours as it always had. The updated technology made it fly, although he remembered the struggle he had trying to make it work. The material was waterproof and he had synced it to his home computer, making the connection stronger and less likely to fail. The unbreakable man. The Ironman.

He opened the display case, fumbling around to find the remote.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a deep voice from behind him grumbled. British, Tony heard.

"How did you -"

"Simple. I broke in, you have very poor security"

"Only the best in the country"

"Hmm, you may want to check that out. I believe you know why I'm here, Mr. Stark" the tall man gestured at the table where Tony had left the chest-piece sitting.

"So you are the anonymous bastard who called me early in the morning." Tony slurred and took a shaky step toward the other man.

"No that would be my brother. He is quite a pain, really. He likes to check up on me. Beat me at my own game. He sends his apologies"

"Why are you here?"

"Simple. I need help. From you, nonetheless."

"Well, you can't have it." Tony lamely retorted. "It's mine."

The man furrowed his eyebrows before laughing. "Your suit? You can keep that. It's faulty. The aerodynamic calculations are all wrong; even you know that, seeing the numerous times you crashed into your car. And the technology you used could have been changed for the better numerous times with a few small experiments. But you seem to trust your calculations." The man laughed. "We have that in common."

"My calculations are always right. If they weren't I wouldn't trust them"

"You are very stubborn, Mr. Stark. And Arrogant, if I may say so."

"You can't."

"And ignorant," The man ignored Tony's comment, "going by the amount you have drank this evening."

Tony glanced over at the spilt drink and empty glasses that were lying on the table. "None of your business." he mumbled

"Not to mention," the man continued starting a slow walk, circling Tony, who was becoming more and more annoyed, "that you seem to have no caution, being so incredibly wealthy and all. There is power in wealth. I see the same traits in my brother. Power drunk. In your case real drunk. Or 'wasted' if I heard correctly" the man picked up the empty bottle that Tony had strewn on the ground, eyeing it.

"What makes you such an expert" Tony yelled, pointing at the man, his finger wavering. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Concentrating on staying upright, concentrating on staying conscious, concentrating on getting the strange man out of his house.

"I know a lot of things " the man said, a gleam in his eye "I know that you had a bowl of fruit loops this morning that you felt terrible about, since you're trying to watch your weight. I also know that you have been sleeping with several different women at several different times, despite having a recent, serious, relationship with a certain Pepper Potts. There was a woman last night she was blonde and had a birthmark on her lower back. The last thing I know, is that you had a meeting with a man named Nick Fury about a top-secret initiative. The Avengers, I believe it's called. And I got all of that by your hair, shoes, coffee table, living room sofa, display case and the DVD's you have laying around."

"How?"

"I observe"

Tony was furious. He stumbled over to him putting a hand on his shoulder and getting very close to the other man. "What do you want?"

The man smiled "That ridiculous thing would be too conspicuous," he said, walking past him to the display case and gesturing to the suit "I need you to build me something. And I need it, very soon. Yes or no?"

"Who are you?"

"Yes. Or. No?"

Tony, caught a hint of something in the man's voice. Mistaking the fear and desperateness in the man's voice for doubt, Tony took the opportunity to swing a drunken punch at the other man's face.

The man easily dogged it and watched as Tony plummeted to the floor, trying to regain his balance, the engineer stood facing the man, and took him by the blue scarf around his neck, pulling him close to him, trying to strangle him. The man laughed, landing a punch on Tony's shoulder, and taking his legs out from under him. Tony tumbled back onto the floor. The man put a knee on his chest, making it difficult for Tony to breathe. Tony struggled under the man's grasp, trying to think clearly, trying to get out of the thick fog of alcohol. Tony lifted his legs, hitting the man in the back of the head.

The man was stunned and Tony took the opportunity to grab the remote to his suit. He watched it spring to life, and attach itself around him. The familiar feeling of metal surrounded him. Home. He took a minute to assess the situation. His security had been disabled by a breach in the system. The man was feisty and was getting up, rubbing the back of his head.

"You are in no state to be driving," he said, his face showing the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Tony raised his hand. "Your fault."

The suit was about to fire when suddenly all the power went out. Tony's eyebrows furrowed. Nothing, He raised his arm again.

The man laughed. He took a wire out of his pocket and spun it around in his hands. "Know when you have lost, Mr. Stark." Tony's eyes widened, "Now, your answer?"

"Fine. I'll do it."

The man smiled artificially and picked up the chest piece from the table looking it over and setting it down again.

He crossed over to the door, opening it and leaning against the frame.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and you will be seeing quite a bit more of me" he said, before winking, and closing it behind him.

Tony watched him go, still utterly confused and drunk. He took a deep breath, taking in the situation before vomiting over the back of the couch.

Eventually, he just passed out on the floor, drifting out of reality.


	2. Chapter 2

**I would love any suggestions, comments or anything that anyone has to say! Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

Tony opened his eyes, wincing at the light streaming in through the windows. His head was pounding and he could hardly remember the events of the night before. All he remembered was a man with a blue scarf and a deal he had made. He put his fingers to his temples, massaging them as he slowly brought himself to standing.

He surveyed the damage. The display case was open and his suit was sparkling clean, sitting in it. The floor had been newly vacuumed and soaked, and was impeccable. The glasses were all in their places, the empty bottle had disappeared. Tony shook his head, he wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure that the house had been a lot worse off.

He heard two voices in the kitchen, talking, in hushed whispers. He stumbled in to reveal Nick Fury and Agent Romanoff sitting across from each other at the kitchen table.

Natalia stood up, smiling. "Have a nice sleep Stark?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. Now, is it okay for me to ask what you are doing in my kitchen, or is it really none of my business?"

Fury sighed, furrowing his eyebrows. "We were informed of the security breach at your house last night, we sent Agent Romanoff over to check it out, turns out that all you needed was a cleaning lady and to be tucked in. Need I remind you of the issues we already have, keeping the initiative a secret. Please, Mr. Stark, for the sake of everyone: Don't be stupid."

Tony laughed, showing his perfect teeth, "Me? Stupid, what do you take me for?

Natalia scoffed, picking a bright red apple out of the fruit bowl sitting on the counter and taking a bite, passing by him on her way out the door, leaving the two men alone.

"In the meantime we will have someone to come stay with you. We have a few people in mind before we transfer all of you into SHEILD headquarters and you can stay there."

"I really don't think I need to be babysat."

Nick Fury stood up and unlocked his cell phone, pushing it into Tony's face.

The display showed a rather unflattering picture of Tony himself, on the ground, passed out, soaked in sweat, surrounded by pools of his own puke. He looked terrible. Tony winced.

"I don't this is what a grown man should look like, do you?" Fury said, putting his phone away.

"Well, I definitely don't think that a child should look that way." Tony said, looking straight into his eyes.

Nick Fury crossed over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I think it is advised." He smiled sharply, patting him on the back twice before turning to leave.

"I don't need a babysitter." Tony said, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"You can make enemies, Mr. Stark, and trust me, you wouldn't want me to hate you."

"Hm, that's funny, last time I checked, I was the CEO of one of the biggest weapon industries of the world. And you? You are trying to revive a superhuman program that was big in the seventies. You also lost the most powerful energy supply known to mankind because someone waltzed in and _took it_ from you. And, if I remember correctly, I am funding this little project of yours. You need me."

"If you don't keep quiet, Mr. Stark, I will make you, is that clear?"

"My house, my rules" Tony said with a smirk, which faltered when he saw the look on Fury's face.

"I will be sending a copter here in a few days to bring you into SHIELD, all of the members will rendezvous there as a trial run, to prepare and debrief. If you refuse, I gave them permission to taser. But I really don't want to resort to that." And with that, Fury walked right by him, leaving Tony Stark standing in his kitchen with a baffled expression on his face.

…

He continued his day fairly regularly. Taking an aspirin and lying on the couch with a cold compress on his head, keeping all of the drapes closed and the lights off. He didn't remember what it was he agreed to, but he knew it must have been something important. He remembered a tall man with a blue scarf and a very suave coat who didn't want the suit. He couldn't remember why though.

He looked over at the coffee table, where his old chest piece was sitting. He remembered the phone call and suddenly it all came rushing back to him. The invincibility, the man who wanted an inconspicuous device that would maintain life, the British man who knew everything. He knew about the initiative. Sherlock Holmes. The name stuck in his head, repeating itself over, and over, and over again.

He pushed the panic away, as he felt it rising in his chest, a blue light radiating in the center. His life.

He thought about Nick Fury and the whole Avengers project. He wanted to save the world as much as the next guy, but he really wasn't a favourite with the people involved. Agent Romanoff hated him, Nick Fury hated him and the rest of the members were all a mystery. He hadn't really been told anything. He sighed, closing his eyes. He should have done his research. He usually did. He was angry with himself.

There was a buzzing at the intercom. His babysitter, he presumed. He reassured himself, putting on his million-dollar smile and matting down his hair and moustache, checking to see in the mirror what he looked like.

"Not too shabby," He winked at himself. Nonchalant. No panic, nothing wrong. He pushed away all the feelings with a sigh.

He walked over and checked the security camera to reveal a small car with tinted windows. He bit his lip in anger.

"Jarvis, who is at the door"

"I'm not sure, sir, my system is not able to identify"

"Alright, turn on the intercom." He said, reluctantly.

"Of course"

"Hello?" Tony said into the speaker.

The car honked.

"Who are you?"

The car honked twice

"I need to identify you before you're allowed in, sorry."

The car honked three times.

"Sorry, no can do."

The car honked once for a painful amount of time. Tony waited until the horn went silent, without showing how uncomfortable it was making him feel. He wasn't worried about the neighbours, seeing as though he didn't have any, but it was loud and hurting his, still tender, head. The annoying sound was feeling less and less authoritative and more and more irritating.

"Not going to happen," he said.

The car window slowly rolled down, revealing the man who he had been thinking about, not minutes earlier.

"Please?" Sherlock said, in a very serious tone, displeased at the thought of ruining a very dramatic entrance.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You again. Hooray."

"I am detecting sarcasm."

"Why yes! Yes you are." Tony laughed, incredulous.

"I see. Well I've come to solidify our deal. You've had most of the day to think about it. You slept on the sofa, I presume? Or was it just the floor. " Sherlock paused, analyzing the entire conversation that was had and the state of entrance to the house. "I wasn't inclined to move you."

"Right. Well, bye bye now."

"No. I am here for your end of the deal. In return I can offer you my services. I figure your boss was here, or something of the sort. The Avengers initiative. I can be a great asset." there was a long pause as Sherlock struggled to spit out the last of his sentence "Please"

"How do you know all that?" Tony said, feeling slightly exposed, eyeing his apartment. If there were any secret cameras or weird electronic hookups that weren't authorized, Jarvis would have found them and fried them. He remembered trying to put in his I-Phone before letting Jarvis know. No, his house was definitely not bugged. He felt an odd spark of excitement rise in his chest.

"Maybe if you would let me in, I would show you." Sherlock growled.

"Jarvis, are there any weapons in the car?"

"Negative."

"Alright. Let him in."

The gate opened, giving access to the house.

"Thank you." Sherlock said, exasperated


	3. Chapter 3

**As per usual: comments, feedback, or general merriment are always appreciated!**

* * *

"There is no way that you can tell a plumber by his hands. It's physically impossible!"

"Oh, but it's not." Sherlock sat, perched in a big leather armchair, a mug of coffee in his hands. He had his long legs crossed at an awkward angle, the light coming in through the freshly drawn window, illuminating his pale skin and making him squint.

Tony sat, unfazed, legs open, hands resting on his knees, head pounding. His half drunk glass of water convened next to his own cup of coffee, sitting on their respective coasters, waiting to be consumed. He was trying to adjust to the sudden change in room atmosphere, contemplating whether this man was making any sense, or if he was just too hungover to care.

"A plumber works with wrenches, if he is right-handed, for the sake of example, then you would assume that his left hand would be holding whatever he is tightening or loosening. The hand skin would be rough and callused, due to the repeated motion needed to use a wrench. The other hand, of course, would have less muscle and therefore look measly and weak, compared to the calloused one. Not by a great amount, just by enough for those who care to observe to notice" Sherlock took a sip from his mug.

"What about all the other jobs that include wrenches? Carpenter, engineer?"

"Well, yes, of course there are others, but by the angle of the calluses, the subtleness of the weaker hand and the almost unnoticeable hyperextension of the knee from bending down, it is safe to say that, yes I can distinguish a plumber from a carpenter."

"And how is that supposed to help me?"

"Think of it like a game of chess, except you know every move of your opponent. You have won the game, before you even start playing. The project that SHEILD has come up with is a clever one, but without my help, it could, and most likely will, fail miserably. I have access so many things it could make your government's head spin."

"If you are, as you say you are, so high and mighty, why don't you just build one yourself?"

"That thought arose before your name came up. I figure, this is no time to experiment. Also, I rather like your suit, it has a certain charm and suave to it."

"You want class?"

"No, I want inconspicuousness."

"Sorry, I can't help you. Firstly, I hardly know you, apart from last night where you whooped my drunken ass and left. I don't even know what you want the damn thing for, and as you already may have noticed, I have worse things to think about."

"If I was here to destroy you, you would already be dead. I can help. I understand that most people only do what they love for more than just the thrill of doing them. I will help you with your Avengers Initiative. I have something that you don't have."

"You have information?"

"No, I have intelligence."

Tony sneered as Sherlock continued, ignoring his reaction. "In about one minute, someone is going to buzz your intercom and you are going to have to let him in. Now, even though we did agree on this yesterday, I will give you a chance to answer while not under the influence. I am in need of your help and you must know, Mr. Stark, I don't ask for assistance often. I came all the way from London, leaving behind my work, clients and John, my flatmate. I can be a good ally or a worse enemy. I'm leaving the decision, ultimately, up to you."

Tony paused an pondered his options, he didn't know Mr. Holmes, he couldn't read his face or even his mannerisms, but he could tell a person that held power, and Sherlock Holmes was a powerful man, or at least he thought he was.

Tony sighed, "I will work only weeknights, not past ten. I am being moved from my home to SHEILD base in a few days. If its not finished by then, unfortunately, you're on your own."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, but nodded as the intercom buzzed. Tony was surprised and crossed the room to answer it.

"Jarvis, security scan please."

"All systems are working, sir"

"Excellent, and who is at the door?"

"Background check, scanning."

"Thank you, Jarvis." Tony pressed the button, looking down onto the security screen, showing a small red jeep. There was a man inside, but Tony couldn't get a stable enough image to tell who it was. The security fix must have screwed up the camera. "Hello?"

"Yes, um, hello. Are you Tony Stark?"

"Yes, and you are?"

The man either didn't hear, or chose not to respond. "Nick Fury sent me, he said to tell you to play nice, and that if you don't let me in I have license to use this gun."

Tony was outraged. "I think you forget that this is my house and that I make the rules, not Nick Fury. Why don't you just go crawling back to Nick and tell him that Tony said to go fu-"

He was interrupted by a sickening smash and crunch of metal on metal. He looked back at the blur of his camera screen and noticed that the jeep hadn't moved, but that the man was gone.

Sherlock made a noise at the back of his throat; he had figured it all out. "Ah"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Tony spun around to look at Sherlock who was now sitting more comfortably in his chair, confirming that he had the upper hand.

There was a knock at the door, "Why don't people just, give up anymore?

The door had another three knocks and a muffled word before it was busted through. The door swung on it's hinges feebly a couple of times. Tony looked at the state of the mutilated lock.

"Please, make yourself at home, why don't you."

"Thanks, sorry about your door."

"Fine, just fine." Tony said, monotone.

Sherlock picked up the silence "My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a consulting detective, only one in the world."

"From England?"

"Yes, from England."

"Too rich to hire someone from your own country? What happened, Tony, another mishap?"

"That's Mr. Stark, to you, I don't think that is for you to judge seeing as you're Fury's puppet." Tony said, through gritted teeth.

"Oh, he didn't hire me, we are old friends from university. I am staying at his house. I needed a small favour from him," Sherlock said, falsely smiling, showing all of his well-polished teeth

Tony was about to burst. There were three of them, staying in his house. He took a deep breath, nonchalantly crossing over to his coffee which he had left on the table

"Well, it's going to be crowded. Should I take the couch?" The man asked, looking around for a guest room or something similar. He seemed reluctant to be there, but he also seemed very out of place, with his vintage-looking army bag and his funny, blonde haircut. Not to mention his size, the man was busting out of his shirt with muscle.

Tony was not, by any means, intimidated. "No, of course not, the floor is way more suited to you"

The man furrowed his eyebrows, a deep-rooted feeling of anger eroded off of him. He seemed like the kind of guy who would take everything personally. "Listen Stark, I am as pleased about this as you are. Hell, I am still adjusting to the fact that I'm not dead. I am still getting used to seeing how things work around here, let alone manage a 40-year-old child. I am fully prepared to stay out of your business and out of your way, if you keep to the protocol and stop being so completely irresponsible. You brought me here, it was your own damn fault. Not mine. I'm just following orders. I want to be here as much as you want me to be"

Tony laughed and took a sip of his coffee, "Real good pep talk there,"

Sherlock put his feet up on the coffee table watching the situation unfold, he knew the vital piece of information that Tony obviously didn't.

"You are getting on my last nerve, Mr. Stark," he said "I will give you one another chance, you can either treat me with respect or - "

"May I interject for a quick moment?" Sherlock said, hopping to his feet and circling around the tall man with the beefy arms. "You wouldn't by any chance have a dollar bill?"

The man looked stunned for a moment, before he opened the front pocket of his duffel bag and pulled out an aged wallet. He fished around a little and pulled out a dollar bill.

Sherlock looked at the man and squinted his eyes, "That is a very nice wallet that you have, you don't mind if I take a look?"

"Go right ahead" The man said as Sherlock looked it over a couple times, analyzing it. Tony and the man watched as Sherlock opened it and spun it around, threw it up once in the air and handed it back to the man. "Thank you" he said, before walking off.

Tony was confused, he had only knew Sherlock for a few minutes, really, and yet he found himself saying "Yes, he is always like that."

"Interesting," The man said.

Tony looked him up and down, before turning around and strolling aimlessly. "this is the kitchen," he said gesturing to it,

"The bathroom is downstairs along with my workshop, and the parking garage. The guest rooms are on the second floor and I don't like noise so try to keep the partying to a little to know status." He said winking.

"Of course. I will keep that in mind."

Tony walked slowly towards the stairs, projecting holographs of the door and it's broken frame, as well as his garage door, mumbling instructions to Jarvis as he left. He stopped three steps down, turning to look back at the man.

"Who did you say you were again?"

"My name is Steve Rogers. Captain of the Avengers Initiative."

"Captain? Who put you in charge?"

"No, Captain America."

Tony raised one eyebrow, unimpressed and thudded down the stairs, to begin work on the new suit and figure out what the hell Sherlock was going on about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this chapter's a little on the shorter side.**

**Any feedback or suggestions would be fantastic, I try to take as many, if not all of them, into consideration when I write :)**

* * *

Sherlock stood at Tony's worktable poking at the holographic image of a suit.

"Too bulky though, I need it to be unnoticeable, even to someone who is of like-mind to myself. I should not be able to know it's there."

The suit he had on display was a paper-thin spandex that could be activated with gloves. He could wear it under his clothes. But Sherlock knew what was coming, he knew the capacity in which this suit would need o be one hundred percent undetectable, or his entire plan would fail.

"The only other way I can make this work is if you activate the suit through other means, like a remote control."

Sherlock sat down on the stool, thinking.

Tony stared at him and watched as Sherlock fazed out, before he started to speak. "Why did you look at Steve Roger's wallet?"

Sherlock looked at Tony, annoyed, but took the opportunity to show off. "I don't know if you recall the Super-Soldier project in 1940. Well, you might, but I doubt it. It was a project run by Dr. Josef Reinstein. He injected a serum into test subjects, to make them, as the name states, 'Super Soldiers' this project was shut down with the death of the doctor and all of his subjects."

Tony furrowed his eyebrows, but said nothing, knowing that Sherlock would continue. "Steven Grant Rogers was around eighteen years old when he was injected. He was a super-hero who went by the name 'Captain America.' Your grandfather and him were quite close in those days. I don't know why you don't know this"

"I tend not to dwell on family"

"The story ends that same year, when Steve Rogers was killed in a plane crash along with Heinz Kruger, better known as 'The Red Skull.' The formula came up later on in history when a man named Bruce Banner, who thought that he could reinvent the Super-Soldier serum and ended up turning himself into the most dangerous things the world has ever seen. The Hulk."

Tony's eyes lit up.

"Awesome"

"Not quite. You see, Bruce Banner is very dangerous when provoked. He isn't in control of his body. He could easily kill anyone."

"So you're saying that this guy wanted to turn into a retro buff guy but ended up turning himself into a part-time giant mutant?"

"Precisely. Bruce Banner is also one of the greatest minds in science, and Steve Rogers is the most powerful man, when it comes to physical strength, in his right mind. He simply is a Super-Soldier. It worked for him for a reason. I assume, from what I saw, that Steve Rogers was found and salvaged and then brought slowly into the modern world. Both men will be on your Avengers team."

"You know who is on the team?"

Sherlock let out a groan of frustration "Of course. You would too if you observed."

Tony huffed and turned back to his work. There was a silence. "So what you're saying is that you want a pace maker to slow down your heart until it seems like you're dead and then bring you back to life, when you deem it appropriate, but your won't let anyone else know about it. It won't work. You need a remote control."

"I don't trust anyone to do it. I need to keep it a secret"

"Well, there is no other option."

Sherlock growled in frustration. He looked at the holograph. A small square pendant the size of a thumbtack would monitor his heart. and keep blood flow without pumping his heart, making it imperceptible to any medicinal instrument. He thought of John. Poor old john, sitting at his computer, probably, unaware of the heartache that would be brought to the both of them. He sighed.

"Fine, remote control. But the fall needs to be convincing."

"Right, you have to jump off a building. Well the skin suit will protect your vital organs, but you want a few broken ribs and fractured skull and things, is that correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Well, the only way that will happen is if we put some sort of lulling device on the ground, some invisible force field. If we use electrocution of some sort, we can painlessly crack some ribs and reparably break your head. It would be painful, but it has an anti-serum. I'll show you how it works when I get a model going. I wanted to do this so long ago." Tony did a little jump in the air and grabbed a few utensils before grabbing the holographic blueprints and dragging them to his computer, yelling instructions to Jarvis. He paused for a moment and looked over at Sherlock who was lost in thought again. "This is going to require heart surgery" He said, as if it were a minor speed bump.

"I understand."

"I've done it before"

"I don't trust you" Sherlock said bluntly

"Well, you need a doctor"

"I have a doctor. A very gullible doctor. We just need to convince him that none of this is happening." Sherlock said, a challenge in his eyes. He knew who he wanted to lead his operation, and it was thrilling to try and keep him in the dark about it all. He cleared his throat

"Are you any good at lying, Mr. Stark?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Another shorter chapter. Sorry for the delay. The usual is appreciated.**

* * *

John sat at the table, his mind blank.

He had felt rather lonely since Sherlock was gone. There was really nothing he could do about it. Sherlock had left a week earlier swearing he had important business to take care of in Los Angeles, California.

The two hadn't spoken since then and John had started to find his life mundane and solemn. His day hadn't been irregular. The flat was clean for a change, but he found himself missing the sound of a violin and the annoying chatter of his roommate.

John had been rather confused about his and Sherlock's relationship for a long while. He had become a very dependent person. He wasn't usually dependent. He wondered how Sherlock was getting on without him.

The flat was eerily quiet.

His phone started to vibrate jolting him out of his slump. He fished around his pockets until he found it. He answered it.

"Hello?"

"Um, yeah. Hi. I'm looking for Doctor… John Watson." An American voice answered.

"John _Hamish_ Watson" A familiar voice grumbled in the background. Sherlock's voice. John smiled.

"Speaking."

"Grab as many clothes as you can. I have a car waiting for you outside. Get in it."

The phone went dead.

John was confused, but he knew the drill. It was probably one of Mycroft's plans anyway. He went up the stairs two at a time, grabbing his bag and shoving his laptop and a bunch of clothes into it in fistfuls. He walked outside to find a long dark limousine, with a chauffer. The man opened the door and saluted him John returned the gesture and got in, with a bewildered expression on his face.

…

Sherlock sat in the chair. He wasn't certain why he had decided to invite John. It was risky and reckless. If John found out what was really happening, then the results could ruin everything.

Sherlock ran his fingers through his curly hair. He felt that he was getting more and more sentimental as time progressed. He needed someone he trusted. He was dealing with his heart. He looked down at his chest. The thin purple fabric of his button-down shirt covered it, only revealing a sliver of his pale skin. His stupid heart, pumping blood, keeping him alive. Sherlock had always hated hearts. They were so useless, over-used and cliché. People would associate the heart with feelings; the place feelings were formed was in the brain, and he knew very well that his brain had no space for feelings, even the unwanted ones.

But every time his mind drifted back to him, his coarse blond hair and brown eyes. He couldn't help but feel a leap in his chest. At first he enjoyed the thought of John's company, but slowly, he wondered if he had grown feelings for the man. It was very likely.

He thought about John and his odd quirks. How angry he got when Sherlock forgot to get milk. The smile he saved only for late night cases, when he was so tired, his eyes would barely stay open. His funny little laugh.

Sherlock tapped his fingers against his knee absent-mindedly as he tried to unravel the tangled knot that he was. He sighed pushing it all away. He was here to get a job done, not to dabble in his own sentimental idiocy.

…

"How much longer?"

"Ten minutes."

"How much longer now?"

"Still ten minutes."

"And now?"

"Ten. Minutes."

"And n-"

"Ten Freaking Minutes!" Tony was frustrated. John's plane had landed and Sherlock was bouncing off the walls like a child at Christmas. Tony had only known the man for a week, but he knew enough to realize how important John was to him.

He looked over to where Steve sat in the armchair, reading quietly, lips moving ever so slightly. Tony didn't like being bothered, and Sherlock was nuisance enough. But as the days progressed, he realized that Steve was caught up in more things than Tony and wasn't there to take care of anyone. He was right when he had said that he'd stay out of his way.

Tony wondered about him. He had always been curious, but after what Sherlock had said, about the war and being frozen in ice, Tony wondered whether the Captain had left anyone behind.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a poke on his shoulder.

"And now?"

Tony looked at his watch "And now it's nine minutes."

Sherlock's expression stayed neutral, as always, but his eyes lit up. "Most excellent. You can call me when he gets here, I should like to start a skin experiment. Please, if you could, don't disturb me until then. I will be in your kitchen, thawing the fingers I brought."

Tony furrowed his eyebrows, but said nothing, watching as Sherlock skipped his way into the kitchen.

He sighed and crossed over to Steve, sitting across from him on the couch. "So, how's the modern day treating you?"

Steve looked up from his book and squinted his eyes. "Fine. It's certainly not like it was."

"Cars have definitely stepped it up a few notches."

Steve smiled, lost in thought "Yes they have."

"Well, you're in the most electronically savvy house in the entire world." Tony smiled. He felt a twinge of guilt and pity for the hunky man sitting in the chair. He didn't know why, but he felt an odd bond with the Captain. "You could try anything you'd like"

Steve's face lit up. "Thanks."

"No problem" Tony said, walking away. He liked the guy; he was very sweet.

The intercom buzzed.

Sherlock ran to the screen, announcing loudly that John had arrived. He stopped right in front of the intercom screen, composed himself and pressed the button. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Sherlock? It's John."

"Ah, John. Wasn't expecting you. I'll buzz you in." He looked at Tony.

"Jarvis," Tony said "The door"

"Opening the door, sir."

"Thank you Jarvis"


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock had felt a twinge in his chest as John pushed open the door with a worried expression on his face, looking around the room, like a guard dog, sniffing to make sure everything was in the ordinary, he looked over at Tony then over at Steve, then finally, his eyes rested on Sherlock. "So what the hell am I doing here?"

"It's a very long and difficult story John, one that is rather tedious and boring. The important thing is that you are here. You have performed surgery before, is that correct?"

"Yes. Why Sherlock, all the way from London?"

"As I already explained, it is a useless piece of information that is not useful to you. So, a heart surgery is within your capability?" Sherlock couldn't stand lying to John. His John.

"Yes, Sherlock. I can do heart surgery. But I'm pretty sure that there are many other very capable doctors in America, no need to call me from London." John was scared more than angry but it didn't show in his voice.

"I don't trust them. It is my body; I want you to handle the surgery. I trust you." Sherlock looked his roommate in the eyes.

John was shocked and terrified "Why?"

Sherlock was finally at a loss for words, he couldn't lie. He needed help.

Tony swooped in to his rescue. "It is a very generic procedure, Sherlock needs a type of pacemaker. He asked me to engineer it for him. I have one implanted myself." Much to the surprise to everyone in the room, Tony lifted his shirt off to reveal the Arc Reactor shining its blue light from his chest.

Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off of it; it was like infinite power sitting in Tony's chest.

Steve looked up from his book again, sighing.

Tony put his shirt back on, smiling at wide-eyed Steve and was disappointed to find that he wasn't interested. Tony felt annoyed. Why was it so hard to grab the war hero's attention? He changed his focus to John "It's a strengthening mechanism. An experiment."

John whipped around to look at Sherlock "An experiment? I draw the line here. I have dealt with decapitated heads and fingers in the breadbasket but I won't do this one, Sherlock. I won't."

Sherlock caught John's look, staring into his eyes, locking their gazes together.

John sighed. "No, Sherlock. It's your heart. I don't know if you've noticed, but you can't live without it."

Sherlock scoffed "Living's boring"

John rolled his eyes as Steve looked at Sherlock with a confused expression on his face.

"Sherlock, I won't operate on your heart for your amusement. That's sick."

"What if I told you it was all a part of a giant scheme to kill my evil nemesis and win a giant game, saving the ones I loved and protecting them by not telling them anything" Sherlock said, knowing that John wouldn't understand. "…and that I was a superhero." He added for his own amusment/

"Then I would tell you that superheroes only exist on the telly and that you're being ridiculous."

Tony looked over at Sherlock, then to Steve, who was far out, lost in thought again. Tony held his breath, on the verge of laughing. The suit sat, staring, empty from its glass case in the corner.

…

As the next hour progressed, Tony went off to order dinner, leaving Steve to observe the argument between the two british men.

He watched the scene unfold, old disputes arising, unfinished business with each other, pet peeves and such.

"No, Sherlock! It is never okay to trick someone into thinking that they are being attacked by a giant dog"

"Hound, actually. And it was for the greater good of the case. We did end up solving it, no help from you."

John got so fed up and angry that he slapped Sherlock straight across the face, a clear sound echoing around the room, much to Sherlock's surprise and horror.

"Did you just…"

"Yes. I did."

"How dare you?!"

"I will not do your surgery Sherlock. That's final."

Sherlock swung a punch at John. He grabbed Sherlock's arm, twisting it around backwards, in a hold, bringing the tall man down to the floor. Sherlock took John down, sweeping his feet out from under him, pinning him.

"I won't do it. Get off"

"No."

"Get off."

"No. Not until you agree."

"I won't"

"I'm not getting off."

The doorbell rang and Tony crossed the room, looking into the blurry screen

"Jarvis?" He asked over the sounds of the fistfight "Who's at the door?"

"The pizza, sir."

"Great. Send him up" Tony said, stepping over John and Sherlock and walking back down into his workplace.

Sherlock pounded down on John, his forceful tones, turning slowly into oddly formed pleading.

John was becoming frightened as Sherlock became oddly frenetic, and his punches turned more and more hysterical.

"Get off me, you twat!"

"I. Need. You." Sherlock said, hitting John to emphasize each word

John looked frantically around, searching for help.

Steve rose from his chair and separated the two men, holding them apart. "Have you been listening to yourselves? Not to eavesdrop, but this is ridiculous."

Sherlock stopped, his heart racing pushing all his feelings away and putting on his former mask "My… apologies." He spat out, sulking over to the armchair, curling up into a little ball, mind racing. He wanted John to be safe. That was all he wanted. Why couldn't John see it? Why wouldn't he just do what he was told?

"Thank you" John said and turned to Steve "And thank you."

"You should do his surgery, if it's that important to him" Steve said simply turning and sitting back down and opening his book, hoping to finally get to read it.

Sherlock looked at John helplessly as there was a soft knock at the door

"Pizza delivery, for a Mr. Tony Stark?" an adolescent boy squeaked from outside.

Sherlock perked up a little, obviously deducing from the boys tone of voice and the sound of his footsteps and the energy of the door knocking. "Seventeen-year-old highschool student. Lives in the daunting part of the city. Too thin to eat the pizza he delivers. Aspires to be an inventor, and looks up to the greatest in the world. Tony Stark himself. Has smoked a total of one cigarette, and was disgusted by it. Bad case of acne. Slightly inverted feet, needs orthodics, can't afford them. Has glasses and an oddly shaped pinky on his right hand. A mother and father, little sister and a dog." He mumbled angrily.

Tony opened the door to reveal a thin teenage boy with thick-rimmed glasses and an obviously uncontrolled skin condition. The boy's face lit up.

"How much do I owe you?"

The boy's face lit up, eyes wide. "Gosh, you're _the_ Tony Stark. I thought it was just some prank call. We get a lot of those."

"No, I'm definitely real."

The boy grinned revealing his big chunky braces, which shone in the light of the house.

"Braces. Damn. Always something"

John rolled his eyes as Steve furrowed his eyebrows in wonder.

…

It took another ten minutes before the boy left, after Tony unwillingly signed the boy's forehead.

Steve looked over at Sherlock "How did you know that?"

"Minute details, this one was a little difficult, I'll admit. Mostly to do with his footsteps and voice. His knock was at a peculiar angle to begin with." Sherlock was going about it halfheartedly, looking at John for a last attempt at convincing him, his eyes pleaded.

"John, it wouldn't be a difficult procedu-"

"You are a complete idiot."

Sherlock wilted again. He gave up, he would just have to find another way.

John paused, thinking it over. He had just damaged Sherlock's ego and he was getting frightened. Sherlock wasn't always so persistent, was he? He sighed. "Yes. Fine. You're an arse"

Sherlock sprung to his feet without any expression on his face. "Excellent." He said, leaving the room to make accommodations for John in Tony's giant house.

"You're a good person, John" Steve said, giving up on his book entirely and getting up "You two need each other."

"He doesn't need me for anything more than a distraction. He'll get bored soon enough and move on." John said, surprising himself.

"Maybe. But I think there's more to him than that." Steve said before leaving John in the living room alone with his thoughts, reflecting over the eventful few hours, wondering what the hell had been going on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry it took so long and that it is so short again! You all know how it is when life gets in the way.  
****Remember to do all that stuff that I like so much for you to do! (Comments, feedback, suggestions, a hello! :) )**

* * *

James Moriarty sat in his kitchen, watching the birds fly past. He had been having a good day, he thought as he bit into a lovely red apple. Sebastian was out, his little underling. And his plans for Sherlock's impeding doom were unfolding nicely.

He walked into his living room, propping his feet up onto the coffee table as he leaned back on his couch. He felt impenetrable.

The door squeaked open softly and Jim smiled.

"Hello there sweetheart. Did you get milk, we have run out?"

Soft footsteps thudded towards him. Jim slowly realized that it wasn't Sebastian he was talking to before a hand was placed on his shoulder, gripping it tightly.

Jim took in the man's appearance. He was tall and slender with piercing green eyes. His dark hair slicked back and as pale as paper. He looked dashing in a lovely suede suit. Jim licked his lips hungrily. "My kind of man" he said aloud, winking at the stranger.

The tall man moved the hand to around Jim's throat.

"Do you like that sort of thing? I'm more the dominant type myself." Jim smiled

The man tightened his grip.

Jim chuckled "This is highly amusing. Thank you, I have needed some entertainment. The day was rather dull. No one to play with. But you'll play, won't you."

The tall man laughed and pushed him down on the ground, making Jim's smile broaden.

The man slapped him across the face once "You amuse me. Thinking you can challenge me?" He said, "I have come on a matter of business. It was said to me that you are one of the best. I need a minion. You seem suitable. I might even spare your life. Perhaps. If you help me."

Jim looked at the man and feigned surprise "Oh! It talks!"

The man looked Jim in the eyes "I will not be spoken to in that tone, weakling. You must do as I say."

Jim felt a shiver roll down his spine. Not knowing whom the man was, he felt the irresistible need to gain back his power. He got particularly close to the man's face, noses almost touching "Or what?" he whispered

The man raised his eyebrows "Or face my wrath." He said simply "There is a war beginning Mr. Moriarty and I don't think you would like to be on the wrong side."

"I see. What fun!" He said, chuckling and getting to his feet "But if you'll excuse me, as much as I enjoy tall handsome, yummy strangers, I don't come without a price."

The man smiled, "I think you'll help me. You love submission. You puny humans. You all do. I am just trying to help you. Why wouldn't you want a king?"

Jim cocked his head at the man, he started to circle him, and seeking out the kind of man he was. Mid way he asked "And if I agree to help you, what is your plan?"

"Simple. If you help me, I plan to rule the world."

Jim smiled, crossing once more to look at his face. "I don't know. It all sounds so… boring" he hissed.

The man was fed up. He pulled Jim from the ruff of his neck, forcing him to his knees. "There are two ways to go about this. I could give you the choice, or get you by force, either way, you are going to help me." He raised his stick, transforming from a suit into a full headdress and cape his walking stick now a staff. He grinned sheepishly pointing it at Jim's face "I am Loki Laufeyson and you shall obey. Kneel before me." He watched as Jim's eyes glazed over blue.

The unnerving smile still rested on Jim's lips.

Loki waved his staff once more, hoping to make him stop.

Jim laughed; he tried to stand, feeling the weight of Loki's spell on his shoulders. His eyes slowly changed back and Loki watched in horror as Jim stood to full standing, still grinning from ear to ear, struggling against his curse.

One foot quivering, keeping it at bay, Jim felt as if he had the weight sky on his shoulders. He tried to stay focused. Keeping his mind on one thing. After a moment, Loki's wrath stopped and Jim straightened with glee at this roadblock he had passed. He had the upper hand. Just where he wanted to be. He crossed very close to Loki, touching noses with the man.

"I don't do well under those circumstances. I will help you if you return the favour." Jim said, putting a hand on Loki's cold face. "Darling, you're such an amateur." He said, planting a small wet kiss on Loki's cheek and patting it twice.

"You will refer to me as master" Loki said, trying, desperately to regain some of his power

"If you insist." Jim said, winking, before tossing his apple up in the air and catching it with a grin.


	8. Chapter 8

** Apologies for the long wait! Next chapter will have more Steve/Tony I promise!  
I love feedback, so if you want to see anything happen with the story, just let me know, I'll try to make it happen! :)**

* * *

"God damn it Sherlock" John murmured to himself, knife in hand, Sherlock lying unconscious on the operating table.

…

Sherlock sat, perched on the armchair, staring at John, who had decided that he needed some sleep. A quiet whirring could be heard coming from the downstairs workspace. He looked over at John and watched as his chest rose and fell.

He was perfect. His John. He was horrified to have to leave him. He wanted so badly to tell him how he felt. That he wanted him, but he couldn't let him get too attached, the plan would kill him.

He looked down at the files that Tony had left him. The Avengers files. He scanned through them once but found himself pulled out of his thoughts repeatedly by John's soft snoring. He turned to him, annoyed.

"John"

"Mmmm"

"John"

"Mmmm"

"John"

"What?"

"Have you ever seen Los Angeles?"

"No I have not."

"Would you like too?"

John looked up at Sherlock, annoyed. His expression was unreadable, as usual, but his eyes gleamed, restless. John knew what happened when Sherlock got restless. He pursed his lips.

"Alright, as long as you buy me lunch."

"Agreed" Sherlock said standing and grabbing his coat, tying his scarf and watching John fumble with his jacket as he slowly came back into reality.

…

They walked around Los Angeles together, spending the day sightseeing the wonderful sights of the acclaimed Hollywood. The two walked side-by-side, taking in the weather and the lovely landscapes.

John was nervous. He was jittery with anxiousness over the surgery, he figured but there was something else. He looked over at the tall man, strutting along side him. He didn't know what Sherlock was thinking, but he rarely ever did. He felt exasperated and lonely. It was odd, he was rarely without the detective's company, but he felt so alone sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock felt the same way.

They stopped for a bite in a small bistro on a side street. It was elegant and expensive and much too posh for John. Sherlock, however, looked perfectly in place, sitting, browsing through the menu with his eyes scrunched up, the sun reflecting off of his pale skin.

"Everything's wrong." Sherlock said, looking up at John.

"What's wrong?"

"Everything." Sherlock said, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around. He sniffled, and then stopped, adjusting himself in his seat but not relaxing in the slightest.

"I'm afraid that you need to be a little bit more specific. What exactly is wrong?" John said, sounding like a concerned parent, or Sherlock's therapist.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock said, reading John's face.

John smiled "Yes Sherlock, I'm fine. I just have a bit of jet-lag, that's all"

Sherlock glanced concernedly over at John for one last time before relaxing down into his seat.

As John ordered, he felt Sherlock's gaze drift over him. Sherlock was taking in all of John's mannerisms. John felt his heart jump. He had been on edge all day, with everything that had been going on. He looked Sherlock straight in the eyes, catching the tall man off-guard. His heart thumped in his ears. Only Sherlock would make him feel like this. His food was placed on the table in front of him.

"That's vile." Sherlock said, looking away. "Why would anyone put that in their mouths."

"Sherlock, it's a chicken sandwich. It's not going to bite you."

"Ghastly. It's been sitting out. Don't eat it."

"Honestly, with this expensive a restaurant… Sherlock, just because you don't want to eat, doesn't mean I don't."

"But why would you?" Sherlock asked

"Why would I want to eat?"

"Yes."

"Because food is like fuel. If you don't eat, then your body doesn't have the energy to work anymore."

"Boring"

"And I'm exhausted and starving and so I want to eat before I become irritable and shoot you through the head with your own gun. Understood?" John snapped.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, a smile dancing off the corners of his lips.

The two sat in silence for a while. He just wished that Sherlock hadn't brought him to LA at all. Have Tony do the operation and leave him out of it. He didn't understand why he was so invested in his roommate's personal life. Why he was so obsessed with Sherlock. He was an interesting man, Sherlock Holmes. A man he was so confused by. So infatuated with. He was taken with him. In love with him.

Sherlock was amused at John. His John. The short man was so interesting. So ordinary. So unordinary. Sherlock would sneak glances at him, taking in the fact that he was here along side of him. He felt complete

John took a deep breath. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, John" Sherlock said, gazing at him with his analytic eyes.

"I love you." As John said it he knew he was right.

Sherlock put down his menu and looked at John, eyebrows furrowed, mouth pursed and mind racing. John was his. He couldn't bear the fact of him being with anyone other than himself. He saw it. Them together. He wanted him. He wanted John, but he couldn't. He wouldn't dare do that to him. He stayed quiet, a pain in his chest.

"I love you" John repeated gripping his chair tightly, hoping to get a response.

"You can't" Sherlock said simply, an unreadable expression on his face.

"What?"

"I… I'm sorry."

"Sherlock, I don't understand"

Sherlock fell silent again; he couldn't bare it. He stood up, grabbing his coat from the hook. "Let's go"

"You don't love me back?" It sounded so pathetic and childish coming from his mouth. He felt crushed and weak and lonely.

For a moment, John saw a flicker of sadness cross over Sherlock's face. It was Sherlock's turn to panic and his mind went into overdrive, deducing John. His uncombed hair, his sullen eyes, his crumpled pant leg. He wanted to tell him.

"Let's go" Sherlock repeated. He was terrified. He pushed all of his thoughts away. Hiding his emotions. He reached in his pocket, his expression solid, he put down a wad of American dollars, slamming them on the table and briskly walking past John, out the door.

John stood, heartbroken, and followed after.

...

Tony was picking away at the new chest piece when Sherlock came barreling through his workroom door, which he had left unlocked.

"Hello there, what can I do for you?"

"This needs to get done."

"Yes, I know, I'm working on it, if you can't already tell."

"It needs to get done faster" Sherlock said

"Well, I'm working as fast a humanly possible." Tony said, angrily, connecting a wire to the blue stone. "How's your end of the deal?"

"Fairly standard. You have a very strong team, your weakest link has obviously already been mentioned to you. May I see it?"

"Who?" Tony said, ignoring Sherlock's question.

"Bruce Banner."

"You mean the Hulk? Good god! Why would the hulk be our weakest link? He's a giant green monster, I don't think anything could kick more ass than a ten foot angry green guy"

"Ah, yes, but imagine if that 'angry green guy' turned against you." Sherlock said, growing impatient.

"Yeah, but that won't happen. I can't wait to see this thing."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "The issue is Clinton Francis Barton, better known as the superhero Hawkeye, is being controlled by your new nemesis's power force. So you're down a member."

"And my nemesis is?"

"Loki Laufayeson"

"Who is?"

Sherlock made a noise of exasperation "A frost giant condemned from Asgard after an attempt at Odin's life, trying to get back at his brother Thor for kicking him out. You thought he was dead but apparently not."

"And Thor is on our team"

"Perhaps. Nick Fury predicts it."

"Right. And I fit in where?" There was a ding as the small blue stone in Tony's hand lit up. "I think its finished."

…

Sherlock lay on the operating table, eyes closed, the cold metal pieces surrounding his wrists and ankles. Monitors surrounded his body beeping. He felt the pressure falling in on his chest, his heart pounding. He knew that in a few minutes he would be going under the anesthetic, but that wasn't what was bothering him.

John hadn't spoken to him since after the confession. They had walked home in silence. He could tell by John's steps and reactions that he was taken aback, and he knew that John was angry. He thought they would bump into each other sometimes, through crossing of paths around the house, but John made sure that they didn't.

He felt pressure in his arm and was instantly drowsy. He could barely think.

Steve walked into the room, eyeing the tall man strapped to the metal table. Sherlock looked over to him, analyzing him.

Had leftovers for breakfast, wanted to speak with Tony, is nervous to be working in the force again, use to own a dog, just got out of bed, is very ripped, was a part of… of…

His brain was foggy. He knew that he needed to have the surgery, to help him. He knew that he needed to help Tony. He knew he needed to keep it a secret. He knew that he needed to untangle Jim's web. He knew that he needed to talk to someone. He knew he needed to remember something.

He knew that he needed John.


	9. Chapter 9

**Apologies for the wait and the shortness of the chapter - Remember to leave a note ;)**

* * *

Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror. His purple shirt was strewn over the back of the chair and his hair wild with anesthetic sleep. A little blue diamond shaped light blinked from his chest. His mind was still reeling from the conversation with John.

He wished he could tell him how he really felt. He remembered John's face as he looked down at him, his eyes drooping his mind going. His face engraved in Sherlock's mind. He wanted to reveal his feelings, he wanted to curl up in John's strong arms. But he couldn't and he would have to mend things until he could untangle the angry web that had been created.

…

Tony sloppily tried to wipe down the desk for a third time, hoping that there were zero traces of human blood on it. That wouldn't look good in the newspaper. Tony Stark: Illegal surgery in his basement. He poured himself a glass of scotch and chugged it like it was water. His third glass. He heard the workshop door open and heavy footsteps walk in.

Steve stood in the doorway looking at Tony. The inventor took in the strong man's appearance. For some reason he couldn't stop thinking about the man who now was only three feet in front of him. He watched the curve of his shoulders as he bent over the drawings of Tony's plan to get Loki.

"Interesting, but not going to work in a million years. First and foremost, Hulk is an _uncontrolable_ giant monster. We can't maneuver him into strangling the alien. And even if we could, it would just backfire. Loki has mind control."

As Steve spoke, Tony inched closer to him. Tony had always been interested in women. Not that it mattered too much. He would sleep with anything if he was drunk enough. This time, it was different. He was certain it was different. His vision blurry. He felt strong feelings towards the man standing not three inches away from him, he thought. Tony had never been with another man before, but he knew, in that moment, that he sure as hell wanted to. It could have been the scotch.

He leaned in, placing his head in the crook between the taller man's shoulder blades. He wrapped his arms around Steve's torso, pulling him close, his belt buckle pushing against the soldier's back pocket. Steve tensed.

"Mr. Stark, I don't -"

"Shhh." Tony reassured him turning Steve around and placing a finger to the other man's lips. "Don't think about it." Tony leaned in placing his lips tentatively against the other man's .

Steve didn't relax. "You've been drinking."

"Pffft. Yeah. Not a lot though. Just a few teeny weeny glasses that's all. Can we try that again?" Tony took Steve's face in both his hands and pulled it towards his, roughly forcing their lips together. He pushed his tongue through Steve's clenched jaw and violently explored every inch of the other man's mouth.

Steve gasped for breath and shoving him away. "Stop this" He said, his eyes wild in fear.

Tony grabbed Steve's ass in protest, pulling his hips into his own and grinding them together. He put his head on Steve's shoulder placing little kisses down his neck. He slid his tongue down the large tendon that stood out. "You know you don't want me to stop."

Steve's breathing hitched as Tony began nibbling at the spot between his ear and neck. "I'm begging you. Stop now."

He waited as Tony began to feel down his large arms. Tony put a hand on Steve's crotch.

Steve panicked. He punched Tony straight across the face, hearing him hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Tony groaned, trying to get up, blood running down his nose.

Steve's eyes widened in shock. He was confused and alone. He had been in the 21st century for no less than a week and he had already discovered more about himself than he ever. More feelings. He looked Tony up and down wishing that he could just have him. But he knew he couldn't. "Let's get you to bed."

Tony let Steve pick him up off the ground and help him limp to his room. Tony yawned in his drunken state, watching Steve close the door behind him, wishing that things had just gone his way.

…

Sherlock went into the kitchen, deciding to sleep shirtless, admiring the little square light coming from his chest. He knew he had three more days to return Tony's favour, Devising a plan to stop Loki and his army of Frost Giants form invading Earth. He knew it would have to be subtle. There was a rustle and John entered, rubbing his eyes but stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the Consulting Detective sitting on the counter.

"Oh, sorry. I'll come back LATER. Just needed a glass of water" he said

"No!... I mean, I want you… to stay." Sherlock grumbled

"Alright."

The two sat in awkward silence.

"We'll be going home in four days."

"That's good, Mrs. Hudson will be worried."

"I hope I didn't upset you. Earlier. When you-"

"Nope. I'm alright."

"I am married to my work, John. And it is my only love." He lied.

"I know. I should've known better" John's eyes were transfixed at the blue light in Sherlock's bare chest. The wound was still a little red, but Tony made sure that it didn't bleed much at all, the healing process was unimaginably fast. John touched his fingers to it.

Sherlock hissed as John's cold palm laid flat across his chest. The short man rested his head against Sherlock's body. Sherlock looked at him, his one love. John's eyes drifted up to Sherlock's he leaned in, slowly, slowly, until his lips were a breath away from his flatmates. Sherlock could feel John's breath, warm against his upper lip.

"No" he breathed

Sherlock watched as John wilted in front of him. He cursed himself for making this all so incredibly difficult. He didn't think he could wait. He wanted to hold John close to him and run his fingers through John's coarse blond hair, he wanted to kiss him and love him and consume him. He wanted his John.

"John, I…"

John turned around, his eyes sullen with sleepless nights and saddened thoughts.

"I'm sorry"

John sighed turning away again and closing the door to his bedroom.

Sherlock dropped his head in his hands, wishing and waiting for the day that he could close that gap.


	10. Chapter 10

**It's been too long. My deepest and most sincere apologies. **

* * *

Jim watched as Loki paced back and forth in front of him, struggling to understand the workings of Jim's cell phone.

"Speaking through a box? How? It must be magic?!"

"Technology, darling"

"Technology. Fascinating. Primitive."

Loki threw the phone at Jim.

The two, over a period of time had stopped being bitter and gotten used to being in each other's presence. Loki found it hard to understand why it was so hard to be in control of Jim and Jim found Loki's emotions very confusing as well.

After a weeks worth of bickering, the two had come down to a decision, Loki would help Jim with his plan if Jim would help Loki with his own.

Jim was a clever man and he knew that Loki's ideas were childish and naive. The avengers were a group of superheroes and he was one puny, weak-willed little man with a staff, not to mention all the emotions that Loki was investing into his plan, all the plans for revenge. It was all so... Boring. And useless. The losing side had feelings, always. And as far as he knew from the other team, they had as many feelings as the Oprah Winfrey show. It was very, very boring.

Loki couldn't even begin to understand Jim's brain, let alone comprehend what he was planning to do. It was a small scene he was creating and all he asked was for a small device to help him withstand a bullet wound to the head. Loki could easily put him under a spell and that would do that, but something about this man was wrong. He kept talking about Sherlock Holmes. Why put so much effort into one puny human. Loki planned for an army of the useless humans, why bother beating just one.

...

When Sebastian had arrived home to find another gorgeous man in his apartment, he was immediately threatened. He and Jim weren't exactly together, nor had they ever been on a date, really. But Sebastian hoped that Jim felt something back for him. Considering all the times they had slept together, Jim should at least be attached to him in some way. But there he was, stroking this handsome stranger's beefy arm seductively as if Sebastian had never even existed.

Jim looked up and grinned.

"Darling, this is Loki. He will be staying with us for the next few weeks"

And stay he did.

Much to Sebastian's dismay, Loki and Jim's planning took over the entire flat. Jim's blue prints and maps, Loki's staff, pages and page of notes.

Everything about Loki irked Sebastian. He was tall and slender, while Sebastian was beefy and muscular. His stance held power and something inside of Loki made the panic alarms go off inside Sebastian's head. His state was cold and dark. It made Sebastian think of his time in the war. Although he felt these things, he never felt scared of Loki, since through these vibes of power and glares of ice, Sebastian saw a deep resentment that flowed through Loki. Sebastian knew that Jim had caught on to that fact, and he knew that Jim had already made his move, seeing how he could fit Loki as a string into his giant web.

...

Jim knew of Sebastian's jealousy. He could play him like a royal flush in a game of Texas hold 'em. Jim had every pawn exactly where he wanted them to be. In three days time, Loki would be defeated by the Avengers, his persona of Richard Brook would be complete and the tabloids would print:

SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS

it was all planned and stacked and finished. Ordinary Sherlock would be defeated just like all the other tools that stood in Jim's way. It had been fun, his games with Sherlock, but unfortunately they has become tedious, just like everything else. With Loki around, things had begun to spruce up and Jim knew that with only three days left, he had time to make his own fun, and Loki was the last pawn he needed.


	11. Chapter 11

Tony woke up the next morning with his head pounding. He couldn't remember what had happened the night before but he didn't care much, really. It was always the same. He walked out of his room, slipping on some pants and a white tank top. He felt around his dresser, picking up some dark sunglasses and an Advil.

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. He popped the pill and swallowed. Only then did he realize the state of his house.

Directly in front of him were what he hoped were moldy pickles sitting in a huge jar on the counter. Along the white walls, there were sliced apples pinned, oozing juice and another odd red substance. Lining the counter, bread, cheese and severed toes lay scattered. Tony was in shock. He hesitantly walked into the living room where Sherlock sat on the couch.

Sat was the wrong word, he was crouching, his toes curled over the edge of the cushions, his hands clasped directly in line with his nose, eyes closed. Around him were pages and pages of notes and blueprints. Tony recognized some of them of his own. The blueprints he left locked safely in his hidden work cabinet. Sherlock was very still.

Suddenly his eyes shot open. He stared straight at Tony, widening his eyes.

"Did you touch the fingers?"

"No"

"Well then shut up"

"I didn't say any-"

"Do you want this done by three o'clock today, or not?"

"Yes"

"Then go back to your bed and stay there"

Tony was shocked but the painkillers hasn't kicked in and he really didn't want to deal with Sherlock.

He carefully shut the door behind him to find Steve sitting on his bed. His head shot up and he stood, looking at Tony.

"Hi"

"Do I want to know?"

Steve looked him over. His dark eyes and hair. His prickly beard and furrowed eyebrows. He contemplated heavily the man's reactions to Steve's feelings. Steve didn't even know how he felt himself. He decided to take a leap.

"We need to talk about last night"

Tony furrowed his eyebrows "Enlighten me will you, I can't remember a damn thing"

Steve had a moment of contemplation. Tony recognized this look from countless other times. Steve was deciding whether or not to tell him at all. Whether it was worth it. Tony wondered whether it was as bad as he thought. Slowly the thoughts started creeping back on him. Slowly he remembered the beating of Steve's heart under his palm. The taste of the Captain's mouth, the feel of his jaw, the warmth of his body against his own.

After what seemed like an eternity, Steve made up his mind "You tried to sleep with me"

"Did I succeed?" Tony asked hesitantly.

"No" Steve looked Tony over, trying to read if there was any hint of disappointment on his face before catching himself. He was turning into a twelve year old girl, making goggly eyes and contemplating their imaginary relationship. Steve tried to shake the thought. Next thing he knew he would be picking the petrels off of flowers, chanting "He loves me, he loves me not"

"I've never been with a man before" said Tony with a cheeky grin "You should be flattered."

"I'll try" Steve shook his head and couldn't help but smile. He couldn't feel this way. He was a man. They were both men. It was so odd. Only last week he was living in a whole different era. A different time. It was respected in these days. He kept forgetting. But he couldn't help but feel like it was a bad idea. Like him and Tony would just ruin each other.

There was a soft knock at the door and Tony opened it to reveal a John who was all packed up. He waved. "I'm heading back to London. My work is done and I don't think I can take much more of this. Good luck."

John saluted them awkwardly and walked away, to the front door. He said a few quiet words to Sherlock before opening the front door and slamming it behind him.

Confused, Tony watched him go. Steve watched Sherlock burry his face in his hands and curl up in the fetal position on the couch. Slowly putting the pieces together, Steve stood, making a decision. He bolted out the front door, hoping to reconcile a relationship and hopefully start his own.


End file.
